THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE YELLOWSTONE OR: LOST IN THE LAND OF WONDERS

Illustrated by WALTER S. ROGERS

[iv]

Copyright, 1915, by The Page Company —— All rights reserved —— First Impression, June, 1915 PRINTED BY THE COLONIAL PRESS C. H. SIMONDS & CO. BOSTON, U. S. A.

[v]

PREFACE

Dear Boys:—

In my last story, the title of which was “The Pioneer Boys of Missouri,” I half-promised that later on I might continue the recital of Dick and Roger Armstrong’s fortunes, and carry them further along their pathway toward the far-distant Pacific. The opportunity to redeem that promise having been given to me, I gladly meet you once more in these pages; and I trust this story will afford you quite as much pleasure in the reading as I have taken in the writing.

It will be remembered that we left the two pioneer lads in the winter camp of the Lewis and Clark exploring party. This company had been sent out, chiefly through the personal influence of the President at Washington, to find a way across the newly-acquired country, and blaze a path to the Pacific. They had gone into camp close to the quaint Mandan Indian village, far up on the Yellowstone River, which stream[vi] they had been following since leaving the Missouri.

Apparently their troubles and difficulties had all been smoothed away, and there seemed to be clear sailing ahead for Dick and his cousin. They anticipated spending the long winter months in various ways—studying Indian character and habits, doing more or less hunting and trapping, and possibly learning if there could be any real truth in the strange stories they had heard from numerous sources concerning a Land of Enchantment that existed near the “Big Water” at the source of the river of the yellow rocks and the troubled current.

Unexpected developments, it chanced, caused the boys to venture into this unknown and mysterious region, where they met with many adventures which I have endeavored to narrate in this volume. It will be seen that, although the various tribes of Indians inhabiting the Great Northwest country at that time undoubtedly knew of the marvels embraced in what is now Yellowstone Park, a superstitious feeling of awe for the Evil Spirit’s workings made their visits to that region few and far between, though their love for the chase did take them there at times.

I trust that if any of you ever get a chance[vii] to visit this National Reservation you will do so. And if you read the history of Yellowstone Park you will find that perhaps the first authentic account of its astonishing wonders was given to the world by a member of the Lewis and Clark expedition.

April 1, 1915.

[viii]

[ix]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[xii]

[1]

CHAPTER I THE YOUNG EXPLORERS

“I think we have gone far enough from the camp, Roger.”

“Just as you say, Dick. I never seem to know when to stop, once I get started.”

“And it’s easy to start you, too. That was why the boys, back at the settlement of St. Louis, came to call you ‘Headstrong Roger.’”

“Well, Dick, I hope to outgrow that fault in time. You know my father was the same way, when he and Uncle Bob used to hunt and trap and fish on the Ohio River, and later along the Mississippi.”

“It seems hard to believe, Roger, that we are so far from our homes. Sometimes I shut my eyes and can picture all the dear ones again—father,[2] mother, and my younger brother, Sam.”

“Yes, but here we are, hundreds and hundreds of miles from them, and in the heart of the Western wilderness,” said the boy who had been called Roger; “and planning to spend the coming winter with our good friends Captain Lewis and Captain Clark.”

“Sometimes,” remarked his companion, “I am sorry we determined to stay here and winter near the Mandan Indian village. We might have turned back and gone home, along with the messengers who were dispatched with documents for the President at Washington.”

“And who also carried the precious paper that Jasper Williams signed, which will save our parents’ homes from being taken away from them by that scheming French trader, Lascelles.”

“And yet,” observed Dick, thoughtfully, “when I think of the wonderful things we have seen, and what a glorious chance we have of setting eyes on the great Pacific Ocean next summer, I am glad we decided to stay up here on this strange river of the wilderness that in the Indian tongue means Yellowstone.”

“It is a different stream from the ‘Big[3] Muddy’ or the Missouri, and as full of rapids as it can be. Before long the expedition will have to abandon all boats, and trust to the horses to carry the camp outfit over the mountains to the west.”

“Listen, Roger, what was that sound?”

“I thought it was the whinny of a horse,” replied the impetuous one of the pair, as they dropped behind some brush that grew on the brow of a gradual slope leading to a lower level.

“And it came from below us, too. What could a horse be doing here? Do you think any of our men are out after fresh meat to-day?”

“There are a few horses among some of the Indian tribes around here, and it might be—there, look, something is coming yonder, Dick!”

“Don’t move again, Roger; it is an Indian brave, and there follows another, treading in his trail.”

“They are not of our friends, the Mandans, Dick, and they don’t look like the Sioux we met a while ago. There come three more, and now I can see the horse!”

“H’sh! Not a whisper now, and lie as still as a rock. They have sharp eyes, even if they are not on the warpath.”

Roger knew why his cousin made this last remark,[4] for the horse was dragging two poles after him, the ends of which trailed on the ground. Upon this primitive wagon rested quite a pile of stuff, evidently the skin teepee of the family and other articles, as well as a buxom squaw and a small papoose.

Back of the first horse came a second, similarly equipped, and then another tall, half-naked brave, armed with bow and arrows. Dick knew that the little procession was a portion of some Indian community moving their camp to a place where the game would be more abundant, for this was the season when they laid in their winter store of jerked venison or “pemmican.”

“Don’t move yet, Roger,” whispered Dick, after the last figure had gone some little distance along the trail; “I believe there is another party coming. Yes, I can already see them a little way back there. Just crouch down and watch.”

While the two boys are lying hidden, and waiting for the passage of the hostile Indians, belonging to some tribe with which they hitherto had had no dealings, we might take advantage of the opportunity to ascertain just who Dick and Roger Armstrong are, and what[5] they could be doing in this unknown region, far back in 1804, when the headwaters of the Missouri had never been fully explored by any white man.

Many years previous to this time their grandfather, David Armstrong, had emigrated from Virginia to the banks of the Ohio, being tempted to take this step because of wonderful stories concerning that country told to him by his good friend, the famous pioneer, Daniel Boone.

His family consisted of three children, a girl and two boys, Bob and Sandy. The brothers grew up versed in woods lore, as did all border boys. They knew all about the secrets of the great forest and the mighty waters. And, indeed, in those days, with peril constantly hovering over their heads, it was essential that boys should learn how to handle a rifle as soon as they could lift one of the long-barreled weapons to their shoulder.[1]

Later, the pioneer was tempted to continue still further into the Golden West, always with the rainbow of promise luring him onward toward the setting sun. With other families, the Armstrongs drifted down the beautiful Ohio,[6] and finally settled on the Missouri, above the trading post of St. Louis.

Here the two sturdy lads grew to manhood, married, and built cabins of their own, near that of old David and his wife. To Bob came two boys, Dick and Sam; while his brother had a son, Roger, and a sweet girl named Mary, after her grandmother.

These two cousins, Dick and Roger, hunted in company, and were as fond of one another as their fathers had been. Dick was a little the older, and acted as a sort of safety valve upon the more impulsive Roger; but both learned the lessons of Nature, day by day, until, at the time we make their acquaintance in this volume, they were capable of meeting the craftiness of the Indian, or the fury of the forest wild beast, with equal cunning.

On the previous spring there had fallen a bombshell into the happy homes of the Armstrongs near the thriving settlement named after the French king. When David, on his arrival years before, had purchased a large section of land that was bound to grow very valuable for his heirs in later years, he had believed his title to be clear and unquestioned.

Later, it turned out that a certain signature[7] was lacking to make the title valid, and unless this could be obtained within a certain time from an heir of the original owners, the entire tract would be taken from them. An unscrupulous French trader, named François Lascelles, had secured the opposing claim, and threatened to evict the Armstrongs in the coming spring, unless they could produce that valuable signature.

This impending family trouble affected Dick and Roger greatly. They began to make investigations and learned that the man whose signature was wanted, Jasper Williams by name, a hunter and trapper, was then far away in the unknown regions of the West.

They also learned that this forest ranger expected to join an exploring party headed by two men who had recently been in St. Louis, and whom they had met in company with their grandfather, David Armstrong. These were Captain Lewis and Captain Clark, sent out by the President of the United States to learn what lay far beyond the Mississippi Valley, and possibly to proceed all the way to the Pacific Ocean, which was known to lie hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles west of the Mississippi Valley. (Note 1.)[2]

[8]

So, determined to do everything in their power to get that paper signed by the one man whose name would save their homes, Dick and Roger had finally gained the consent of their parents to their making the perilous trip.

Many weary weeks the boys followed after the expedition, which had had quite a start ahead of them. They met with strange vicissitudes and wonderful adventures by the way, yet through it all their courage and grim determination carried them safely, so that in the end they finally reached the little company of bold spirits forging ahead through this unknown land.[3]

They were received with kindness by the two captains, who admired the spirit that had brought these lads through so many difficulties.

In the end the valuable signature was attached to the paper, which was placed in charge of a special messenger whom Captain Lewis was sending, with two other men, to carry reports of the progress of the expedition to the President, who had great faith in the enterprise.

This messenger had instructions to proceed straight to St. Louis, first of all, and deliver the document to David Armstrong before heading for Washington.

[9]

The boys had yielded to the invitation of their new friends to remain with the expedition in camp through the approaching winter, and continue on in the spring to the great ocean that all believed lay beyond the mountain barrier. Such a chance would never come to them again in all their lives. The document would reach the hands of the home folks in due time, and also the letters they had dispatched with it.

And so it is that we find Dick and Roger off on a little exploring trip on a day when the chill winds told of the winter that was soon to wrap all the land in an icy mantle.

They huddled there in security behind the thick brush, and, by peeping through little openings, could watch all that went on below them. The moving Indians interested them greatly, because they apparently belonged to a tribe with which the boys, until then, had had no intercourse; although Dick guessed, from the style of head-dress of the warriors, that in all probability they were Blackfeet, and not Crows.

At any rate, he did not like their looks, and felt that it would be a serious thing for himself and his companion if by any accident they attracted the attention of the passing party. Even if they were not just then on the warpath,[10] they possessed arms, and might consider a white intruder on their hunting grounds as a bitter enemy, who should be exterminated at any cost.

The second detachment had now come along and was passing by. It consisted of several braves, and another horse dragging the poles upon which a squaw and three dark-faced Indian papooses sat amidst the camp equipage.

Suddenly Roger, in his eagerness to see a little better, when something especially attracted his attention, chanced to make a hasty move, with the result that he dislodged quite a good-sized stone, which started down the slope, gathering speed as it went.

[11]

CHAPTER II SAVED BY A JACK-RABBIT

At first, the stone seemed satisfied to merely slide downward, so that Dick hoped it would lodge in some crevice and not be noticed by any of the passing Indians. This hope was short-lived, however, for, gaining momentum as the slope grew steeper, the stone began to skip and jump, until, bursting through a little patch of dead grass, it attracted the attention of the nearest brave.

Dick heard him utter a guttural exclamation, and, at the same time saw him hastily reach for his bow, which was slung over his shoulder. The others, too, manifested immediate interest in the bounding stone, for such things do not roll down a slope without some cause and there were red enemies of their tribe who often lay in hiding to attack them.

Roger gave a gasp of dismay. That was not the first time he had been guilty of bringing some sort of trouble upon the heads of himself and his cousin. Dick laid his hand on the arm[12] of the impetuous one, and his low-whispered “Be still” doubtless prevented Roger from making matters worse by showing himself above the bush that sheltered them.

It would seem as though some good cherub aloft must have interposed to save the two lads from the peril which confronted them. Even as they lay there and stared, they saw one of the Indians point at something a little further along the slope, and then, strange to say, the procession again resumed its forward movement, as though all suspicion had been allayed.

Roger was almost bursting with curiosity to know what had intervened. He had not been able to see, because Dick chanced to be on that side of him and, much as he wanted to stretch his neck and look, he dared not attempt it after what had happened.

Accordingly they lay perfectly still until the last of the Indians had disappeared in the distance. Even then Dick would not start to leave their hiding place until absolutely sure no others were coming along the trail.

Unable to longer restrain the overpowering curiosity that gripped him, Roger presently put the question that was burning on his tongue.

“What was it happened to make them pass[13] by, and not start up here to see how that stone started to roll down?” he asked.

“Then you didn’t see the jack-rabbit, Roger?”

“A rabbit, you say, Dick?”

“Yes. It was the most fortunate thing that could have happened for us, and we ought to be thankful to the little beast that he took it in his head to skip out when that stone jumped through the patch of dead grass where he was hiding.”

“Oh! was that what happened?” exclaimed the other boy, chuckling now because of the lucky event. “And, of course, when the Indians saw the rabbit running off, they believed it had started the stone to falling. It sometimes seems to me as if we were guarded by some invisible power, we have so many wonderful escapes!”

“It may be that we are, Roger, because we know that not a day passes but that our mothers, far away down the Missouri, are praying that we may be spared to come back to them. But, now that the coast is clear, let us head once more for Fort Mandan, as we call our camp.”

Of course both these wide-awake lads knew how to find their way through the densest woods, or over unknown ground, by using their knowledge of woodcraft to tell them the cardinal points of the compass.

[14]

When the sky was clear, they could find the north by means of the sun, moon, or some of the stars. If clouds obscured their vision, they knew how to discover the same fact through the moss on the trees, or even the thickness of the bark. Besides the methods mentioned, there were others that experience and association with other rovers of the woods had taught them.

Consequently, although they might be traversing country that neither of them had ever set eyes on before, they always knew just which way to head in order to reach camp.

Dick was constantly taking mental notes as he went along. These included not only the prospects for game, but the lay of the land, for Captain Lewis wished to know all that was possible about such things before once more starting out in the spring to complete his great trip to the Western Sea.

At the same time, Dick was also on the alert for every sign of danger, from whatever source. His keen vision took in all that went on around him. Not a leaf rustled to the ground, as some passing breeze loosened its hold on the branch above, but he saw it eddying through the air; never a little ground squirrel frisked behind[15] some lichen-covered rock, or tree root, that Dick did not instantly note.

They presently found themselves traversing what seemed to be a rough belt of rocky land, where the trees were not very plentiful. It was even difficult at times to advance, and they had to be careful where they placed their feet, since a fall might result in serious bruises.

Just as they passed around a huge bowlder, that had at some time fallen from the face of the cliff towering above them, the two boys heard a queer, sniffing sound. Before either had time to draw back, there came shuffling into view, not more than fifty feet beyond them, a terrifying figure such as they had never up to that moment set eyes upon.

It was a huge bear, far larger than any they had met with in all their hunting trips along the Missouri. From some of the hunters connected with the exploring party they had heard the wildest stories concerning a monster species of brown, or grizzly bear that was said to have its home amidst the rocky dens of the mountains and foothills lying to the west. The Indians always spoke of this animal as though it were to be dreaded more than any creature of the wilds. The brave who could produce the long claws of a[16] grizzly bear was immediately honored with the head feathers of a chief.

Dick knew, therefore, that they were now facing one of these terrible animals. He could well understand the awe with which they were viewed by the red men, and the half-breed trappers, for the appearance of this monster was certainly alarming. Perhaps, if left to his own device, the more cautious Dick might have considered it best for them to decline a combat and, if the bear did not attack them, they could withdraw and seek a safer trail across the rocky ridge.

In figuring on this course, however, he failed to count on the impetuous nature of his companion. The hunter-instinct was well developed in Roger. He looked upon nearly everything that walked on four feet and carried a coat of fur as his legitimate prize, if only he could succeed in placing a bullet where it would do the most good.

So it came about that, as Dick started to put out his hand with the intention of drawing his comrade back, he was startled to hear the crash of a gun close to his ear. Roger had instinctively thrown his weapon to his shoulder, and, with quick aim, pulled the trigger.